


The Demigodly Hunter

by Starlit_Night_67



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Supernatural
Genre: Angel Hades, Angel Poseidon, F/M, Nephilim Percy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlit_Night_67/pseuds/Starlit_Night_67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The titan war has ended, and Percy thinks that he can have peace, at least for a while. With a voicemail from the very people his mother tried finding, and later cut all ties with Percy's world changes. Because of a higher force, Percy is sentenced to Tartarus . . . and he returns after decades, at least to him. And what's with the pure being he sometimes sees in his mind's eye?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Demigodly Hunter

_‘You have 1 unread voicemail(s).’_ The glowing screen of the iPhone reads.

I stare at the screen in confusion and slight suspicion. Who would want to send voicemail right now? A client, maybe? Or some kind of author friend she made? Or a monster? You could never be too careful in the demigod world.

“Mom!” I holler, “You’ve got voicemail!”

“I’m coming Percy,” she says back from her station in the kitchen, “Just give me a minute would you?” Mom pauses. “Or better yet, why don’t you see who it’s from?” the smell of Mom’s homemade cookies wafts through the air. I inhale deeply, like a starving man who’s had his first meal in a long time.

I tap play.

 _‘Sally!’_ a gruff voice says in panic. _‘It’s me, Bobby! Robert Singer! I need your help with the -’_ Mom enters the room.

I have said this once, and I will say it again: Mom’s the kindest person I have ever met. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. She’s smiling warmly. She has brown hair with a few streaks of gray – like the single streak I had from holding the sky on my shoulders, literally – but she isn’t old, at least in my eyes.

She hears the rest of the recording as the freshly baked cookies can be smelled from the kitchen, _‘-hunts. They’re getting worse by the day.’_

I restrain myself from dashing to the cookies as I see Mom’s face drains of all color. It’s a sickly white shade that bordered on slight green, almost as pale as Nico, and that in itself is a major feat accomplished. I stare for the second time today, but not at Mom’s iPhone this time.

My appetite suddenly vanishes. The last time she looked like that . . . well, it wasn’t pretty, I’ll tell you that.

“Who was it from?” She asks, her voice shaky.

 _Should I tell her?_ I wonder. _She freaked out when she heard the message._

I shrug lightly, dismissing the thought. Mom didn’t hunt . . . or did she?

“Bobby.” I say. “Robert Singer.”

If it was possible, Mom’s face looks even _more_ white than I think is possible. _What the Hades is going on over here?!_

Mom blanches and looks at the screen fearfully, like it is the cause of it. I look at her curiously.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Paul demands as he enters the living room. His hair is messy, like he was sleeping – which he probably was – before we created such a commotion.

“Nothing, Paul!” she exclaims, her voice higher than normal. That is _so_ not a good sign. Paul and I raise an incredulous eyebrow at her, not believing a single word.

Mom puts her head in her hands.

 _This is getting_ real _scary._ I think as Mom says: “Sit down. This may take a while.”

Paul scrambles down to sit next to mom, while I sit nervously on the couch, my foot tapping the floor impatiently and my fingers drumming against the hand-rest.

 _To Hades with ADHD._ I curse inwardly. The tension coming from me is making Mom scared, and that’s making me feel even _more_ nervous than I already am. 

I hear Mom take a deep breath.

And let it out.

“Okay.” _Vhoop._ “Okay.” _Whoosh._ Mom calms down. “What do you know about God?” she asks us.

Paul and I stare at her incredulously. She’s talking about a _god_? Really? She courted one and she’s staring at the son of one in the face

Mom sees our dumbstruck expressions and looks at us pointedly. “I mean like god God. Not like Poseidon or Zeus.”

We keep staring at her like she is an alien dropped from outer space.

She runs a hand down her face tiredly. Once again, the look she shoots is pointed. “Christian God? Ring a bell?”

Paul and I exchange glances with each other.

“Oh!” We both drag the word.

But I’m still confused. Paul looks eager, his eyes shining bright as Mom face-palms.

“In the Bible,” she explains slowly, making me feel like a little kid all over again, “there is a mention of God. Of one God who took seven days to create Earth. It’s similar to Greek Mythology’s Chaos, really. He made angels-”

“Like the feathery wing angels.” I interrupt.

“Yes, like the feathery wing angels, now let me continue.” She says in exasperation. “Okay look. He made angels, who resided in Heaven. So when God made man, a group of angels rebelled. And at their head was God’s proudest creation: Lucifer.”

“So he’s the Devil?” Paul guesses.

“He’s the Devil alright.” Mom agrees. I, on the other hand, am dumbstruck at the revelation. Gods, I need to stop spending so much time with my badass, amazing, freakishly smart, architecture-loving girlfriend.

I sigh dreamily. _Annabeth . . ._

Mom snaps her fingers under my nose, and I’m suddenly jolted out of Percyland. I remember what I had to ask before my ADHD got me side-tracked.

“And this is relevant . . . how?” I say curiously.

“Because they’re still around.” Mom smiles bitterly. “I used to hunt. Vampires, Demons, Werewolves, you name it. And thanks to that, my sister died a gruesome death. How else did you think I hadn’t even flinched when I heard the Minotaur coming at us, hmm?”

“Who is this sister?” Paul inquires. Mom looks bitterer than Hades, and that’s saying something.

“Mary. Mary Campbell.”

**\- X -**

“It can’t be.”

“What?”

“Sally . . .”

“You’re starting to creep me out over here Bobby.”

“Oh God . . .”

“Bobby . . .” Dean says warningly. “Just what in the name of Hell are you talking about? He asks.

“Look Dean,” Bobby says, sounding like all the energy drained out of him, “there’s a lot of things your father hasn’t told you. Mainly, your Mom’s younger sister.”

Dean blinks once, twice. “Mom had a _sister_?” he asks incredulously. “That is by far the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.” He declares.

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard?” a voice says behind him. Dean understands, because it isn’t everyday Dean Winchester calls anything _weird_.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean says fondly to his hazel-eyed younger brother. “What you got there?”

He is staring at the plastic bag held aloft by the huge mitts that Sam calls his hands. Sam scowls.

“Quit changing the topic Dean.” He tells the older Winchester. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard? Is it a new monster? Demon? Or maybe that Lilith –”

Dean cuts him off. “Whoa. Easy there, tiger.”

“Dean.”

“Can we get back to the topic over here?” Bobby demands impatiently and successfully garners the Winchesters’ full attention.

“Your mom had a younger sister. She –”

Sam interrupts Bobby with an exclamation of ‘ _What?!’_ as he choked on his own spit. Dean laughs loudly at Sam’s face (Which he deems is _priceless_ at the moment) making Bobby’s scowl deepen.

“Will you two idjits stop interrupting me?” Bobby says, irritated beyond belief to be interrupted for the second time in five minutes.

Dean straightens up and mocks in soldier-like seriousness. “Yes sir, Bobby sir.” He even adds a four-fingered salute and a sixty degree bow as an afterthought.

Bobby’s scowl, if possible, deepens. “Stop fooling around and listen!” he nearly shouts. “Look. On a day that Samuel Campbell, your granddad by the way,” he looks at his sons in all but blood, “went on a Hunt, Sally and Mary Campbell were in their beds. That day, sixteen year old Sally vanished. Poof! No trace at all.” Bobby stops. “The only things that remained were a lock of her hair and Azazel’s power signature.”

Sam gasps as Dean looked on, horrified.

“And apparently, she began hunting all the evil things she saw.” Robert Singer continues. “She was a very famous hunter, almost as famous as your dad. Only that no one knew her name, other than her famous title: The Shadowhunter; she covered up her tracks real good.”

“So how did you know it was Sally?” Sam asks, looking white as a sheet. Dean has a feeling that he doesn’t want to know.

“Because one day, John went on a hunt. You were five, Sam. And he found her bleeding on the ground. He looked at her and immediately knew he was Mary’s sister. That’s how much I know.”

Dean’s gut was right. He didn’t want to know that. “So what about her?” The blonde adult asks carefully.

“Not much.” Bobby admits. “Only that she lives in Upper East Side, Manhattan and has a seventeen year old son. And there’s something different about him.”

“Shoot.” Dean says casually.

“Well,” Bobby rubs the back of his neck, “The guy blew up several schools, fired a Revolutionary War Canon, sent his class for an unplanned aqua trip, strangled a snake all by himself when he was a toddler, torched Saint Louis Arch, hunted by the police, fought this terrorist. And that’s the least of it.”

Sam and Dean whistle. The kid is a greater trouble magnet than they are.

“My hero.” Dean says appreciatively.

“Okay, I have no idea what is officially weirder: knowing that you have an aunt or a cousin who blows up things.” Sam says, shaking his long shaggy brown hair.

“Whatever may be,” Bobby says, looking at the Winchesters meaningfully, “we need get in contact with them.”

“What’s the kid’s name?” Dean asks his paternal figure.

“Percy.” Bobby says carefully. “Percy Jackson.”

Dean groans in exasperation. He should have known it would be him.

“You know him?” Sam asks curiously.

“Yeah.” Dean admits. “The guy helped me out with a couple of hunts.”

Sam and Bobby raise an eyebrow. “When exactly?” Sam inquires.

 _Great. Another secret to reveal._ “Remember when I said that I was screwing girls?” he says.

“Yeah?”

“I never did screw girls.” Dean says bashfully. “I went on hunts. So what’re we waiting for?”

**\- X -**

I never did enjoy Hermes’ unexpected visits.

So it would be safe to say that I still don’t enjoy Hermes’ unexpected visits.

“Hey little cousin!” the salt and pepper haired messenger god says cheerfully. “How are you?”

“Fine, Hermes.” I say tiredly. You can’t blame me can you? After the huge bomb Mom dropped on Paul and I, I think that I have a right to be tired. “What do the gods want this time?”

I can see a flash of panic of the trickster god’s face before he replaces it was his happy-go-lucky demeanor.

“Don’t you think I came for a social visit, Percy?” Hermes asks, and I can see right through him.

“Olympus was locked down a month ago.” I deadpan. “So this means that you guys want something.”

Hermes looks wearier than I’ve ever seen him, looking a lot like the thousand year old immortal he is. A grim smile is plastered on his face. “Alright.” he concedes. “You caught me. The gods have summoned you for a council meeting on Olympus.”

I didn’t expect that.

“No.” I say, panicking. “No, no, no, no. I am _not_ going to Olympus. If this is about me saving the world again, I vehemently refuse. I don’t give a rat’s ass, but I am not going to be in the middle of a war.”

Oh gods, did I use _vehemently_? I have _got_ to be spending less time with Annabeth. Hermes looks shocked at my swearing, probably because I’ve never done it before. I give him a sly smirk and dash straight out of the apartment.

Okay, I have got to admit that that was a stupid yet classic Seaweed Brain stunt. I can’t outrun the god of travelers – who can break the sound barrier with his speed if he wanted to, by the way – but I can at least try. I will absolutely not let the oh-so-great _gods of Olympus_ have their way with me. I have been forced enough, and I don’t really care for this anymore. It’s now I understand why Luke turned out the way he did.

The gods don’t care for demigods. They never did. And demigods have to grow up fast; they yearn for the love a parent that was missing from their lives. And to know that they didn’t even bother to check up on them . . . they could be desperate enough. The only reason I didn’t join Kronos because I had first-hand experienced the evil in him.

I feel a tap on my shoulder the moment I touch the doorknob of the apartment building entrance. _Damn. I hadn’t even gotten out._

And with a soft whisper in my ear, everything faded to black.

**\- X -**

_“I’m sorry_.”

The words keep ringing in my ear. My eyes flutter open slowly, like something had tried to stick them together.

 _Gah._ I think, looking around. _Where the Hades am I?_

The room smells like a hospital. He room looks like a hospital. And I have the sudden urge to run as far as I possibly can. I _hate_ hospitals, with their bleach smell and the stark white room. It always put me on edge.

 _Wait a minute . . ._ I think slowly, after stretching all my limbs like a cat. _I wasn’t in a hospital!_

“Percy!” A familiar voice exclaims, nearly squeezing the life out of me. I register raven hair and tanned skin, and it doesn’t take long for me to recognize the person.

“Dad?” I ask carefully. “Why am I in the infirmary?”

Immediately I cringe inward. Infirmary? It’s definite now, I have got to be spending less time with Annabeth.

“Percy.” Poseidon says softly, clutching me by the shoulders. “Zeus wants to have an _audience_ with you.” He says the word audience like it left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Why?”

“Because he knows everything about you now.” Poseidon says sadly.

My eyes are wide, and I can feel my mouth growing dry. I take a closer look at my father. His face is weathered and tanned, but it is not as deep as it usually was.

That’s the first thing that sets me off.

My dad looks haggard, and there are dark bags under his eyes, which look slightly puffy and bloodshot.

That’s the second thing that sets me off.

He doesn’t have his trident, and his mouth is locked in a grim line. His green eyes are not as bright, and his clothes are not as bright. I mean, he isn’t wearing his floral print Hawaiian shirt. He’s wearing a plain black shirt with black pants. In other words, he looks like Hades, only with a tan and with green eyes instead of black.

That’s the third thing that set me off.

I blanch.

“Come.” Poseidon looks mournful. “The Council awaits.”

And suddenly, a chill skitters across my spine. It’s the presence of foreboding. My gut confirmed it, twisting into knots and making me feel like I’m going to throw up any second.

I don’t want to go to the Throne Room.

But I do, trailing behind my father, watching the hushed whispers of the inhabitants of Olympus.

That makes me feel even more nauseous than I already am.

A frantic voice whispers in my ear. It sounds like the purest sound you can hope to hear on earth, like the clean note of the triangle, or chiming church bells. I straight away know that a powerful deity is talking to me, but what I don’t know is _who_. Or _why_ for that matter. I’m not someone an immortal being would waste their time over, since I manage to piss off almost every powerful person I meet.

_Leave while you can, noble soul! Danger awaits!_

I know that. I know that the moment I walk through the glided doors of the Olympian Throne room, I’m a dead demigod.

And in my mind’s eye, I see a golden figure with the most beautiful white wings, a pure creature, shake his head in sorrow and defeat. I realize that this was the person who was warning me, though I don’t know why.

I am, after all a child, for all intents and purposes, who has seen war. Who has seen death. Who has seen the pestilence that divided my family. Who has seen the conquest that killed so many people.

But despite my instincts, and the warning of the angel-like creature, I step inside. And what I see, isn’t pretty.

**\- X -**

“Perseus Jackson!” Zeus booms, and I roll my eyes from my place, chained to the ground. From here I could see the faces of each and every god on their thrones. Zeus looks victorious, like he’s proved his point of me being untrustworthy. Hades, on the other hand merely looks impassive, but I can swear I see a hint of sadness in those onyx eyes. Demeter looks indifferent, while Ares and Athena look savagely happy. I suspect that Athena’s happiness has to do with me not being near Annabeth. Hermes looks pleading, begging for forgiveness with his cobalt eyes. Apollo looks horrible, his eyes wide and panicking while his twin looks on with a stern and cool gaze. Aphrodite looks hurt for some absurd reason. Hephaestus looks remorseful, his hands fidgeting on his La-Z Boy throne. Hestia looks sad, like all the hope drained out of her. Dionysus looks like he doesn’t care. Poseidon looks like he was attending a funeral, his eyes glazed as silent tears spill from them. But Hera shocks me the most.

Her eyes are misty, like she’s witnessing the death of her child.

“You have been accused of hunting demigods!” Zeus, or air-head, as I like to call him, says. “Is this claim true?”

I look at his eyes with a challenge. “No.”

“Then explain your hunter heritage.” Athena says, smirking in triumph. “Or are you denying it?” she says in mock-innocence.

I’m not a grudge kind of person – the only one I have is with Ares – but I officially hate Athena like one would for an arch-nemesis. I understand from where my father garners his hatred.

Speaking of the older god, he is glaring loathingly at the so-called Wisdom Goddess. His tan hands look like they’re itching for their trident.

I allow a satisfied smirk flit across my face minutely as I say:

“Yes. I am a hunter.” The shocks on the faces of the gods are _unbelievable_. I wish I had my camera.

“But that does not mean I have hunted any demigod.” I continue. “What proof do you have?” I ask slyly, grinning inwardly. My diplomatic skills have sky-rocketed thanks to my amazing blonde girlfriend. I see the proud smirk on Poseidon’s face and feel amazing instantly. But the euphoria rushes out of me just as fast.

 _Annabeth . . ._ I think sadly.

Zeus and Athena are grinning deviously now. Poseidon and I exchange panicked glances, wondering what the prideful father and daughter have in mind.

“Iris,” Zeus says, creating a rainbow, and I can see him suppressing a smile, “Show me the deaths of the demigods at the hands of Perseus Jackson, Son of Poseidon.”

I look at the screen, and I’m horrified to see that a dark-haired man with emerald eyes slaughtering my fellow warriors. Poseidon’s tears stream at a steady rate, Hera looks ready to bawl her eyes out and Hestia is sniffing softly. Even Hades looks misty-eyed.

The video ends, and I’m still staring at where I saw those.

“Any last words, demigod?” Zeus says coldly.

“What about a trial?” I demand. “I am supposed to have a trial!”

Athena’s smirk is huge. In fact, it looks ready to crack her face. “For clear-cut proofs such as this,” Athena says victoriously, “Lord Zeus has the right to dispel the threat through any means necessary.”

I am horrified. I look at every Olympian who I think supports me, and give them a grateful smile as Zeus repeats his last sentence.

“Tell Annabeth,” I whisper, my voice resounding throughout the room, “Tell her . . . that I love her.”

“Insolent demigod!” Athena snarls, furious at the mention of her daughter. “Enjoy Tartarus.”

Zeus’ smile is cruel as he raises the Master Bolt. I am terrified to face the Pit, because let’s face it, Kronos will be itching to get his hands on me.

I close my eyes, and the last image I see before I feel a sinister presence is the Californian girl with tanned legs, blonde hair and stormy grey eyes.

The last image I see is the face of Annabeth Chase.

**\- X -**

Sally was expecting to see Bobby.

After all, if he found her, then he really needs to contact her.

But what Sally Jackson did _not_ expect is the _Winchesters_ , of all people, to be here. Without John, whom she finds out is _dead_ , for all intents and purposes, _suffering_ in _Hell_. _And_ they want _Percy_.

Who, she wants to add, is _missing_.

 _What is going on over here?_ Sally thinks, incredulous as Paul gapes like a fish behind her.

Her phone rings, and when she switches it on, at the insistence of the other occupants of her flat, she sees yet _another voicemail_.

Sally internally groans. What’s with all the voicemails today?

And when she hears the recording, she is instantly horrified. And not to mention terrified beyond belief.

“What is it?” The oldest living Winchester _, Dean_ , Sally reminds herself asks, a hint of worry in his voice at her sheet-like complexion with made an appearance for the second time that day.

“Percy’s sentenced to Tartarus.” Sally says, tears streaming from her face. Paul too looks misty-eyed, his vision blurry with unshed tears.

“ _What?!”_ Sam says incredulously.

“The Greeks version of Hell,” Sally explains as her mind whirls. She had long since told them that Greek Mythology was in fact, very much real. And that Percy was the son of one. And in return, her nephews said that Dean had only four months to live, before he too suffers his father’s fate.

Not on Sally’s watch. She lost her son; there was no way she would let anyone she knew suffer the same fate.

And besides, Percy had a knack for the impossible. He would make it out of there.

“Come on kids,” She says to her nephews, who scowl, making Bobby laugh, “We’ve got work to do.”

_I hope you’re going to be alright Percy. I love you._

With a gaze as hard as steel, she looks at the setting sun, promising herself:

_She would never let the same fate befall somebody else._


End file.
